


ashes & dust

by writingoutoftime



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingoutoftime/pseuds/writingoutoftime
Summary: There isn’t really a word to describe what you feel when you realise that your life got saved at the cost of half the universe.or: the aftermath of a lost battle(spoilers for infinity war, obviously)





	ashes & dust

**Author's Note:**

> it's been 54 hours and i'm still not over this movie
> 
>  **warnings:** uh, there's that whole trauma that was infinity war, some mentions of blood, an excessive use of italics, a lot of dead characters being mourned and generally no one knowing what to do but having to soldier on anyway

* * *

There isn’t really a word to describe what you feel when you realise that your life got saved at the cost of half the universe.

Tony Stark kneels in the ruins of a wrecked planet. He’s too tired to hold the fractures of his damaged soul.

He closes his eyes and lets himself be ripped to pieces.

* * *

A soldier limping over a battlefield. It should be familiar by now.

Somehow, it isn’t.

He’s exhausted to the bone. It feels as if the last seventy-five years have been stripped away from him and he’s back being the lanky, bruised kid fighting his own lungs for every single rattling breath. But he’s still Captain America, hero of the century, and even after all the shit he’s pulled in the last years, people are willing to follow him.

So he staggers through the mud and dirt and blood, wipes his face with the sleeve of his armour and mechanically ticks off a list in his head.

_Look for survivors. Retrieve the bodies. Find out who’s still standing._

Together with the people of Wakanda, he starts working his way through the aftermath of a lost battle.

“Cap,” a voice says.

He doesn’t turn around. He’s kneeling next to a fallen Jabari warrior, touching her hand. Her neck is a bloody, horrible mess, but her face is peaceful, almost as if she’s just sleeping.

The attack already cost them so much. He doesn’t want to think of the lives they lost where they won’t find any bodies to bury.

“Steve.”

Natasha is crouching in front of him.

“I’m okay,” he says, looking away.

“No one is okay.” She puts her hand on his cheek and forces him to meet her eyes. Long months on the run have taught them to read each other’s faces, but it’s almost too easy for him now, when she’s shaken and unguarded and injured just like the rest of them. “Steve, we need to—”

“I know.”

_Collect as much information as possible. Assess the damage. Formulate a plan of action. Put somebody in charge._

He touches his forehead to hers.

_Rally the forces. Defeat Thanos. Save the universe._

Inhales. Exhales.

Allows himself a tiny moment of weakness before he straightens up again.

He’s Captain America, and people are willing to follow him.

But—

* * *

Okoye stands on top of a hill and watches the remnants of their scattered armies stumble to their feet.

She can’t shake his face from her mind. The way he held out his hand to help her up.

 _(A servant to his people,_ a voice whispers inside her, _until the very end.)_

She doesn’t want to imagine the chaos wrecking her city right now. Can’t begin to fathom what’s happening beyond Wakanda’s borders.

Half of them just — _gone._

Thousands of worries are trying to wear her down, but she holds her chin up high. She thinks she would defy gravity, if needed.

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do, but she wills herself to ignore his face and starts walking down the hill.

Down towards her people.

Someone has to help them picking up the pieces.

* * *

—but he’s also Steve Rogers and every time he closes his eyes Bucky is whispering, “Steve,” and he’s reaching out, he’s trying, but his fingers are closing around thin air because there’s just—

— _nothing._

* * *

She’s the only one who knows.

She’s the only one who knows the real prize Thanos had to pay for the Soul Stone.

Because she grew up with hatred for her sister etched into her body with every new gear, every single screw. Because she grew up being taught how to fight back, but never how to win. Because she grew up with a part of her, hidden somewhere deep inside, that whispered: _enough._

Most of the time, she did everything she could to silence that part. Sometimes, she didn’t. She learned that darkness was her only friend. She nestled into the shadows.

She watched. She listened.

And she saw a spark of _something_ flicker in Thanos’s eyes when he talked to Gamora.

She saw something Gamora never did. (And then paid for with her life.)

She knows.

She remembers.

Nebula crosses her arms and watches Tony Stark dragging big chunks of metal around with a desperate kind of determination. He’s a mess: his face is covered with dirt, blood and sweat and his suit is dangling in pieces from his body, occasionally showering the sand with blue sparks.

“What are you doing?”

She regrets asking as soon as the words leave her mouth. Stark raises an eyebrow and stops in front of her. He’s breathing heavily, and she finds her eyes unconsciously checking the wound in his abdomen.

“I don’t know about your plans, Smurfette,” he says, dragging an arm across his forehead, “but I’m going to leave this fucking place as soon as I get that baby there working.”

He motions behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around. Quill’s spaceship. Of course.

“You can play picnic party all you like.” He pushes a screwdriver into her hands. Stars know where he conjured that from. “Or you can actually be useful and help me.”

Up close, she realises that his eyes have turned dark. He’s trailing the shattered fragments of his soul behind him. He’s grieving. He’s broken. He’s lost.

But his mind can’t stop functioning. Can’t stop analysing. Can’t stop searching for a way out.

Up close, she realises that they have more in common than she’d ever guessed.

She can’t escape her body.

He can’t escape his mind.

He sidesteps her and crawls underneath the spaceship. She absently balances the screwdriver on her fingers.

“Where are you going?”

He emerges with even more dirt smeared across his face and grabs a seemingly random piece of metal. He shoots her a look.

“I think I’m going to make a small detour to Mordor on my way to Neverland.”

She’s probably looking confused, because he sighs and waves his hand.

“Forget about it.” He disappears underneath the ship again and she has to kneel and lean closer to catch his voice. “I’m going home.”

She’s thinking rapidly.

“What if I can lead you to Thanos?”

He extends an arm. “Screwdriver.” She hands it over without question. He’s tinkering away in silence for a while. She waits. Finally, he says, “You don’t know where he is.”

“I will find him.” She curls her hands into fists. Her body is still aching from the torture, but she barely registers the pain. Something deep down inside her is burning. “I can find him anywhere.”

She moves backwards so that he can squirm out from underneath the ship. He gets to his feet. He’s towering above her, but somehow, it doesn’t feel that way. He’s broken. She can see it so clearly now, even though he tries to hide it.

“Nice try,” he says and spits into the sand. “But I’m still going home.”

“You don’t understand.” She jumps to her feet now. Her mind is racing. “It might be the only way.”

That catches his attention. His eyes snap to hers.

“You know something.”

_(She saw something Gamora never did. She knows. She remembers.)_

She crosses her arms. “What if I do?”

“Then I might have just decided to tolerate your company a little while longer.” He turns around and climbs into the spaceship to check on the engine. “But don’t start hoping that we’re going on a cliché road trip with an eighties music soundtrack through the galaxy. I’m heading for earth.”

She climbs in after him. Ducks underneath a loose cable that’s dangling from the ceiling.

“We need to be a step ahead of Thanos, not behind,” she argues.

“Oh, for Heaven’s _sake._ ” He whirls around to face her and throws up his arms. “In case you didn’t notice: there’s no being ‘a step ahead of Thanos’ anymore. He’s about a billion steps ahead of _us._ Or did you sleep and miss out on all the ‘most powerful being of the universe’ drama going on?”

“You are a major pawn in this game,” she says quietly, “if saving your life is worth giving up half the universe.”

He staggers back as if she’s punched him. Catches himself on a metal bar that’s protruding from the wall. Clears his throat. Doesn’t look at her, when he says, “you don’t understand. I need to—”

Then she realises. Body count.

He doesn’t want to find out who else he’s lost.

But not knowing is killing him slowly.

She’s not sure which part of her finally gives in and nods. Maybe the bleeding scratches inside her that spell Gamora’s name.

“Tell me what you know,” he says, turning away, “on the way back home.”

_(A flicker of something on Thanos’s face. The way everyone crumbles when love turns into agony. A possible weakness.)_

Later, she thinks, people will tell the story like this:

_There was a wrecked planet. There was a man whose life cost half the universe. There was a woman carrying a secret that would bring the Mad Titan to his knees._

_But Thanos’s downfall began long before his rise to power._

_Everything started with a girl._

* * *

Somewhere in a forest in the heart of Wakanda, a racoon is collecting ashes and splintered branches. He buries them carefully between two large roots, patting the earth like an old friend, even though a part of him whispers that nothing is going to grow from these seeds.

* * *

Shuri takes the news of her brother’s death _(Disappearance? Annihilation?)_ with solemn eyes and a heavy heart.

A part of her brain is preoccupied doing the math, trying to break down the unthinkable into something that makes sense. Three-point-five billion human lives. And that’s just earth.

_What are the odds that he—_

She turns towards the windows that are looking out at the city. They’re already running on emergency protocols. Doctors, nurses, paramedics and firefighters (the ones that are still left, anyway) are on high alert. There’s a website in construction that will soon start collecting the names of all the people they’ve lost.

There’s no time to be grieving.

There’s no time—

* * *

_This is a memory that hits her out of nowhere: it’s a lazy summer evening. They’re just the two of them, on the rooftop. She’s eight, maybe nine years old. T’Challa is five years older. He puts his arm around her when she snuggles close. They watch the stars. He points out constellations to her. He gets them wrong. She laughs and corrects him. He raises an eyebrow at her, grinning. Then he puts his chin on top of her head._

_“Do you want to hear a secret?” His voice is low._

_“If you’re going to tell me that D’jomene kissed Kadija last week,” she says, “I’m going to inform you that I already know all about that. Besides, kissing is just gross.”_

_“Not that kind of secret.” He’s chuckling. She can feel the vibrations in her body. “It’s a different type of secret.”_

_“Which one?” She leans into him._

_He whispers, “a secret about life.”_

_“Which one?”_

_He nudges her nose. “That there’s just one thing you need to know about life: that it goes on.” He pulls her closer into his side. “No matter what horrible things might happen to you: life will go on.”_

* * *

—there’s no time to be just a sister. To be just a seventeen-year-old girl.

She straightens her spine and turns around to face Steve Rogers again. Somehow, he looks like he’s aged. Not physically, of course. But there’s a weariness in his eyes that makes her realise, for the very first time, that he was thrown into the wrong century.

“Shuri,” he says. Just her name.

She nods. “I’m ready.”

(She’s not. And he knows she’s lying. But they both have to pretend.)

She looks into his ancient eyes. “We’re going to end this fight. And I’m going to protect my people.”

* * *

Ashes and dust.

That’s all that is left of his life, his family, his home.

Ashes and dust.

He hides deep, deep in the forest of Wakanda. Falls to his knees. Buries his hands in the earth.

Let’s the lightning crack through his body and explode across his skin.

Opens his mouth.

Screams his agony into the void.

Ashes and dust.

The God of Thunder should have known that is all he can ever leave in his wake.

* * *

_It was the only way._

Tony doesn’t want to admit it, but Stephen Strange’s last words are haunting him.

* * *

Natasha isn’t sleeping anymore. She’s fuelling her body with pure spite.

(It’s not the first time that she walked through hell and came out laughing.)

She’s everywhere and nowhere at once, sticks to the background, listens, observes, catalogues. Her network is collapsing (she doesn’t want to think about what that means, doesn’t want to let that reality sink in just yet) and it’s hard to get a grip on reliable information when the whole world is falling apart.

She keeps tabs on her channels and scavenges her surroundings for every little snippet of data, news, codes and messages, just something, _anything_ that shows that they aren’t the only ones left standing.

(She gets a text from a number in Brazil. A single word, all caps: **KARAMASOV.** It’s a code she and Clint didn’t have to use in years. Her blood runs cold. It means his family isn’t safe anymore.)

“You aren’t helping anyone if you burn yourself out,” Steve tells her.

Somehow, they ended up in the same empty hallway at the same time, both with no idea where to go next, both too tired to care. They’re curled up on the floor now, leaning into each other. Steve stretches his long legs, Natasha draws hers close to her chest.

“I know for a fact that you haven’t slept either.” She puts her head on his shoulder. He lets her.

Steve pulls at a leather strap on his uniform. “Can’t. I’m having nightmares.”

She doesn’t reply to that. She doesn’t need to. They’ve both dealt with a shit-ton of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“It’s worse than last time.”

“Isn’t it always?” She manages to crack a smile out of him, with that.

“True.” His voice sounds rough. He really should sleep. Maybe she should sleep, too. “We’re experts at fucking things up.”

“The very best.”

When he inhales deeply, his shoulder rises beneath her ear.

There’s something about Steve’s presence that makes her lower her guards around him. It’s dangerous. She doesn’t like it.

(That’s a lie. With Clint gone, she didn’t realise that she missed being completely comfortable around someone else until she learned that Steve makes her feel like she could be.)

It’s silent for a couple minutes. Then—

“I can’t lose Bucky,” Steve whispers. He sounds almost helpless. “Not again.”

 _Sam,_ she thinks, her heart aching for him. _Wanda. Vision. We didn’t deserve to lose them either._

A door at the other end of the hallway bursts open and they both jump.

“Captain?” A girl is looking at them with big, wire-rimmed glasses. She’s barely twenty years old. Someone from Shuri’s team, probably. She’s wearing red chucks. “There’s a meeting—”

He nods. “Right. I’m coming.” Before he gets up, he turns to Natasha. “Sleep. For real. Just maybe not here on the floor.”

She smiles weakly.

He leans forward and kisses her forehead. “I mean it.”

She looks at him. The kiss surprises her. He’s never done it before.

Then she understands: it’s a last trace of Steve Rogers before he rises to his feet as Captain America, the softness gone.

It’s kind of ironic, she thinks. He gave up on his shield and gave up on his name to save someone he loves. To just be that boy from Brooklyn again for a little while. Only to be punched in the face by reality with full-force.

 _There’s no use in trying to run away from who you’ve become,_ she thinks.

She knows that better than anyone.

* * *

Tony wakes up with Peter’s name on his lips.

Nebula is watching him. He rolls his eyes at her, for the sake of pretending. Knows it’s too late, knows she has already noticed his grief.

_I don’t wanna go._

In his dreams, he’s reliving the scene. Every single time the exact moment when Peter stumbles into his arms. And Tony knows that he can’t protect him.

_I’m sorry._

He was just a kid.

(He wasn’t.)

(He was young and naïve and nerve-racking. He was loyal and clever and so, so strong.)

(He was trying to so damn hard to impress him. He was trying to so damn hard to be part of their group. To prove he was worth it.)

He was just a _kid._

(He wasn’t.)

(He went into battle with Thanos with his head held high.)

They still are a couple light years from Earth. Tony leans back in his seat. He tastes the grief like ashes on his tongue.

He was just a kid.

(He wasn’t.)

(He died bravely. He died desperately. He died like a hero.)

(He died too fast.)

He was just a kid.

* * *

_This is a memory that is haunting Steve: it’s just the two of them, they’re fixing up their armour and picking their weapons for the end of the world. Bucky leans forward to tie his boots and his hair falls into his face. He pushes it behind one ear and looks up at Steve._

_“I should have known that you dragging your sorry ass back here means big trouble following on your heels.”_

_Steve pulls at a leather strap and grins._

_Bucky turns his attention back to his shoes. His voice is low. “Too busy playing superhero gone rogue to drop by sooner?”_

_Something tugs inside Steve. He studies Bucky’s face, half-hidden by long strands of dark hair._

_He doesn’t say:_ I’m sorry.

 _He doesn’t say:_ I wanted to come back.

 _He doesn’t say:_ I missed you.

_He grabs the shield T’Challa has promised him and tests its weight. “Something like that, yeah. How’s recovery going?”_

_“Oh, you know, pretty decent.” Bucky straightens up, shrugs and adjusts his new metal arm. “If it weren’t for the slight inconvenience with the end of the world going on out there.”_

_“Jerk.”_

_“You deserved it.”_

_“Fair enough.” Steve turns the shield in his hands. “I think I’m starting to really like this thing.”_

_“Suits you.”_

_Bucky grabs his gun. They stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. Steve cocks his head._

_“Ready for the end of the world?”_

_Bucky steps closer. Something flashes in his eyes. He stands on his tiptoes and leans forward until their foreheads are touching._

_“Ready to follow you anywhere.”_

* * *

The Hulk is a mess. Bruce Banner is, too.

But there’s so much work to do that he doesn’t get a moment to sit down and talk it out with himself.

The worst thing is watching the news: three-point-five billion people gone from one moment to the next. And chaos is swallowing the world as a whole. Politicians disappearing in the middle of their speeches. Transitional governments. Uprisings. Countries on the brink of civil wars. The economy crashed. The internet crashed. (It’s already running again — that’s something, at least. Most countries are opening online databases to catalogue the citizens they’ve lost. People are searching for loved ones all over social media.) There aren’t enough people to keep up a functioning agriculture. Shops are running out of supplies. Riots. Protests. Anarchy.

No, actually that’s not true. The worst thing is seeing Natasha again: it’s awkward. They aren’t talking. They should be talking. (There’s no time to talk.) It’s a mess.

Okay, seriously, who is he kidding? The worst thing is sitting in a small meeting room at half past four in the morning, almost drowning in a cup of coffee and watching the faces of people who are slowly giving up on hope.

Being reminded, with every glance around the room, of those that are missing.

(They’ve had to give up on so much.)

He takes a sip of coffee. Watches Okoye talk without hearing a single word that’s leaving her mouth.

(They need time.)

(There is no time.)

The thing he should be concentrating on right now is this: a couple of countries have formed some kind of emergency union. And now they’re demanding an explanation of what the fuck just happened. (Possibly with less drastic words, but he’s too tired to remember.)

They make Cap record a video. He delivers his lines calmly.

They really couldn’t have asked anyone else, Bruce thinks, as he watches him standing in front of the cameras. A soldier until the very end.

They decided to take the blows as a team.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can already see tomorrow’s headlines:

**BREAKING NEWS: AVENGERS FAILING TO PROTECT EARTH +++ AVENGERS RESPONSIBLE FOR DEATH OF MILLIONS +++ ALIEN KILLS HALF OF HUMANITY, AVENGERS ARE JUST WATCHING**

He downs his coffee.

Looks around.

It hurts to see them like this.

They’re all hollowed out by hopelessness and survivor’s guilt.

* * *

 _Steve doesn't say:_ I love—

* * *

In all honesty, Tony is flying a ship held together only by the sheer force of his will.

It’s a complete wreck: they’ve barely survived entering Earth’s atmosphere. He counts himself lucky that FRIDAY managed to download a couple newsfeeds as soon as they got into satellite range, which told them exactly where all the action had happened. So now, they’re heading straight for Wakandan International Airport.

As soon as they got into satellite range, he also found out that he’s got exactly zero missed calls from Pepper.

He tries not to think about what that means.

He tells FRIDAY to search the databases of the dead for May Parker and Wong. If they don’t show up there, he’s got two very uncomfortable conversations to look forward to. (He silently swears to deliver the news himself. He owes them.)

Nebula is watching him. He pretends not to be unnerved by it. She’s been quiet ever since she’s told him the story of her sister and why she had to die.

He’s been examining her words in his mind, arranging them carefully.

Thanos, who loves his daughter. Thanos, who sacrifices her and doesn’t realise he’s starting an irreversible process.

_Love turning into agony._

_A possible weakness._

He’s also been examining other words.

_One in fourteen million._

_It was the only way._

Tony kind of wants to resurrect Stephen Strange and then kill him again for not leaving behind more clues.

He’s not stupid. He knows what his life got traded for. For some reason he seems to have their only shot at hope.

It’s a heavy thing to carry.

* * *

The sun’s rising. Steve’s waiting on the tarmac.

A gentle breeze tousles his hair. A soft morning haze hangs in the air. It smells like wet asphalt. About twenty minutes ago, FRIDAY beeped in to ask for permission to land in Wakanda’s airspace.

So—

Tony’s coming back.

(Tony and—)

(Actually, Steve doesn’t know.)

(A part of him doesn’t want to know.)

Natasha stops beside him. She’s so light on her feet that he only notices her when she brushes his shoulder. She looks at him and holds a thousand unspoken things in her eyes.

He gives her a small smile.

The others are slowly lining up behind them.

Banner joins them first, keeping a bit of a distance. Then Rhodey. Shuri and Okoye. Thor, who’s as still as a rock in their middle. And then there’s the talking racoon. Steve thinks his name’s Rocket, but he’s not quite sure. Things have been a bit of a blur.

There’s a word for them, he realises suddenly: _survivors._

Still standing.

* * *

Somewhere, in the hazy blue sky above Wakanda, a spaceship starts getting closer.

* * *

This is how it will go down:

When Tony steps off the ship, Rhodey will be the first one at his side. Just look at him, and then sigh and press his forehead into Tony’s shoulder. Just breathe. Just making sure he’s real.

Shuri will not be quite comfortable playing her role as the princess of Wakanda.

Bruce will shake his head as an answer to a silent question. _No. The others aren’t still coming. This is all that’s left._ They’ll have to trade names at some point. Body count.

Nebula will keep to the background. Sticking to the shadows, as she’s used to. Watching. Listening.

Natasha will keep close to Steve, just in case.

Okoye will keep close to Shuri, just in case.

Rocket will step forward and ask about his friends.

Thor will later be seen kneeling next to him on the tarmac when the others have left, talking quietly. Someone who knows what it means to lose everything.

At some point, Steve will stand in front of Tony.

(He won’t say: _I’m sorry_.)

(He won’t say: _I never wanted things to go so horribly wrong_.)

(He won’t say: _we should have talked sooner_.)

He will read about the damage Tony has suffered in his dark eyes. He will know that his own grief is written across his face, too. They still aren’t okay. They still have many knots to untangle. But. That will happen later.

Because right now—

“Our odds are one in fourteen million.”

“Then we better figure out how to raise the stakes.”

* * *

There isn’t really a word to describe what you feel when you realise that your life got saved at the cost of half the universe.

But there probably is a word for when you decide to make their sacrifice count for something.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> idk, mate, i think i need a hug. i think we all need a hug.


End file.
